


Burn like a Blazing Star

by Rey_Lo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Childhood Memories, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fireworks, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hand Touching, Minor Angst, Parents Leia Organa and Han Solo, Past Leia Organa/Han Solo, Post-Battle of Crait (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rey_Lo/pseuds/Rey_Lo
Summary: Two months after Crait, Kylo watches fireworks at a First Order Gala. Alone with his thoughts and memories he does not stop the Force Bond opening.Rey has never seen fireworks. Is there a way that Kylo can show her?A one-shot of (mainly) fluff inspired by Guy Fawkes/Bonfire night celebrations.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79
Collections: Reylo CanonVerse, Reylo Hidden Gems





	Burn like a Blazing Star

**Author's Note:**

> On the 5th of November in Britain, Guy Fawkes night is celebrated with fireworks and bonfires. It got me thinking that in Star Wars we see a few fireworks displays in celebrations but living on Jakku, it was probably something that she would never experience and the story grew from there. 
> 
> The title comes from a line in a traditional poem about Guy Fawkes. He was part of the Gunpowder Plot which was a failed assassination attempt on James I of Great Britain. Traditionally in Britain, effigies of him are burned on top of bonfires on the 5th of November. 
> 
> I am not sure if the Force Bond would work like this but if DLF can make it up as they go along, I will too!
> 
> A huge thanks to the amazing [Andrina_Nightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade) for looking this over for me, making me a beautiful mood board, and all her support in general. Please check out her wonderful fics! Also thank you to all the lovely people on The Workshop Discord group who encouraged me through sprints and gave me feedback. You have all been fab!

Burn like a Blazing Star

The projectile releases a sound as soon as its launched, screeching as it fights air currents, propelled by the rapidly burning explosives in its tail. Higher and higher it climbs, burning like a blazing star across the Coruscanti night sky.

Suddenly it explodes and thousands of sparks tumble like a scarlet waterfall above the appreciative crowd who throng the garden of the Imperial Palace below. They continue to voice their pleasure as dozens and dozens of more fireworks erupt, a burst of glittering hues that illuminate their upturned faces as they eagerly watch the dark sky above. Some of the fireworks whirl and twirl, others tumble, falling like twinkling stars.

The admiring coos of the audience below rise up to reach the ears of the man for whom the fireworks celebrate, though he takes no pleasure from the display in front of him, preferring to stand alone in the shadows of the balcony that juts out above them.

He has never liked fireworks. They remind him of years where he was expected to stand for hours on balconies identical to this one, watching similar displays, in celebration of the signing of the Galatic Concordance. His mother, the poised and capable politician, mixing easily among the good and the great of the New Republic while trailed by a son and husband, neither particularly comfortable in their smart suits and shined shoes. When his fussing was noticed by his mother, she would deliver a sharp look and his father would bend down with a sigh.

“Not much longer kid and we’ll head home. We’ll have a proper celebration tomorrow. I’m sure Threepio will get the kitchen droids make your favourite cake and we’ll do anything you want. Why don’t you go and watch the fireworks while we wait for your mom?”

He would nod and join the dignitaries on the balconies, wandering amongst them though almost always unseen due to his small size, as they talked, laughed, and drank amongst themselves. If he looked back he would know he would see his father through the large open doors, approach the free bar – there was always a free bar at these events – and despite the repeated warnings that he had heard mom give his dad on the speeder on the way to the event, Han would order their best Correllian Whiskey.

And at least another five for good measure.

Ben would stay on the balcony, staring but not really watching the fireworks that the other people around him declared as ‘beautiful’ and ‘extraordinary’. Instead he would imagine that he was at the birthday whose memory he kept in a golden bubble in the secret recesses of his mind. The one that had happened on Naboo, where the Falcon had refused to start, and Han couldn’t get the parts in time to make the dash back to Chandrila for the anniversary. That birthday had been spent on the banks of the river outside Varykino, in front of bonfire where they had toasted sweet mallow. His parents had been cuddled into each other with Ben in the middle, his mother happily laughing to his father’s corny jokes instead of rolling her eyes as she normally did. Ben had fallen asleep in his mother’s lap, happy that they were all together and no one was shouting or sniping at each other….

Eventually, Leia would realise that Han was two sheets to the wind, propping up the bar and chatting invariably to the female in the room who was wearing the least amount of clothing. With a face of stone, she would locate her son and bundle both him and his errant father into the speeder. The whole journey home, he would feel the prickling tension in the air, his mother’s displeasure rolling of her in waves, warping the Force until it was practically screaming in his ears. The nanny droid would meet them at the door, and he would be taken away, looking back to where the sarcastic remarks and caustic comebacks were starting to begin. He would ask the Force to please send him to sleep before the shouting began but it never did. It was as if it wanted him to hear his parents tear themselves apart.

_They don’t care about you. They only care about themselves and their own happiness._

A particularly loud firework booms in the dark, its glittering golden tendrils reaching out across in front of him, breaking through his melancholic ruminations. He is not even sure how Hux had managed to get him to agree to this - a Gala in celebration of his ascendency to Supreme Leader. Hux, and Pryde, who seemed to be always together, had presented it to the High Command as an opportunity to ease current investor’s fears following Snoke’s untimely demise at the hands of the Scavenger Scum (Kylo had almost popped a finger through the seam of his leather glove with the ferocity with which he clenched his fist at that description of Rey) and also to entice new investors, especially in the Core Worlds, where the Hosnian Cataclysm had been seen as an affront by those who still believed in the idea of the New Republic but who could perhaps be persuaded that the First Order would bring them greater wealth and prosperity.

The other members of the council had nodded at various points of Hux and Pryde’s presentation and he could hear their collective thoughts. Snoke had been… persuasive as a Supreme Leader but he was hardly an oil painting. He had ruled through fear of recrimination. He had never appealed to certain Worlds and Systems where more emphasis was placed on the elegance and beauty of appearance and turn of phrase. Snoke had certainly not been someone that could be rolled out at Gala’s to be appraised by potential investors.

Their collective opinion continued to echo around the room, creeping into his mind. Kylo Ren, well, although he was always a hair trigger away from a tantrum, at least he looked vaguely… normal. Scarred but a man, nonetheless, especially without that helmet he carried as if he was Vader reincarnate.

How Kylo had wished he could hide behind that helmet now, the old insecurities washing over him as he remembered past taunts and whispers. _A pity he has none of his father’s dash and swagger. There is none of his mother’s elegance and poise in that gangly frame. How unfortunate he is to have that nose. No one will ever be able to miss those ears, no matter how much he grows that mop._

_Freak. Nerd. Weirdo. Darksider._

_There is too much Vader in him._

And one final pronouncement across a galaxy. _You are a monster!_

_Yes, I am._

His hand, the one that had touched her across the galaxy, had burned. He had brought it down it down with a thump on the table, splintering the wood beneath it.

“Enough!” he had shouted and even Hux and Pryde had had the good grace to startle.

For a few seconds, the mental shields he had carefully constructed after his humiliation on Crait, where she had looked down on him with distain, slip in his anger and he had felt the prickling sensation that he had begun to recognise as a prelude to her arrival. _“Get out of my head.”_ He had spat into the void, hastily rebuilding the barricade against her. Mercifully, he had been able to block her before she had been little more than an impression though he had smelt the particular scent he associated with her; a sweet smell of sunshine carried on the breeze. He had allowed one pang of regret to course through him before he had returned to the matter in hand.

“I consent to a Gala on Coruscant, but I do not see how my presence is required.“

Hux had visibly bristled at this. “Surely, it is only right that our Supreme Leader is present, the lone survivor of a heinous attack planned by the Resistance which not only led to our previous illustrious leaders’ death but that also caused the destruction of the flagship of our fleet! Our Supreme Leader who destroyed the great Luke Skywalker.” Kylo inwardly cringed at the lie that the First Order was passing off as the ‘true’ version of the Battle of Crait as well as what had happened in the throne room (though Hux knew nothing of that particular true version and never would if Kylo had his way).

Hux continued. “The Resistance is already gaining support from the rumours springing up regarding Skywalker's death and there are those among our investors who are questioning how a small bunch of liars and thieves with hardly any survivors, ships and no fuel could have destroyed the pride of the First Order Fleet and escaped on the most bloody recognisable ship in the galaxy, while we had to slink back to our territory to lick our wounds like some domesticated Loth-Cat. So yes, _Supreme Leader_.” He spat the words out as if they had left a bad taste in his mouth. “I therefore suggest that your presence _is_ required.”

Kylo had allowed his eyes to burn into Hux’s as he put the barest amount of pressure on his puny white throat to remind him why _he_ was the Supreme Leader and not Hux. The other members of the council had looked amongst themselves, and Kylo could feel their fear spiking the already tense atmosphere of the meeting room. Then a single thought floated across his conscious.

_He is a monster. A monster that needs his head cut off sooner rather than later._

Disorientated, he let Hux go, searching for the traitor among them but no further treasonous thoughts came forth and he was unable to recognise whose mind the thought belong too. Hux and cricked his neck, running his finger under the collar to stretch it out. “Your presence would be appreciated by your investors, Supreme Leader. A show of our strength, particularly while the Scavenger witch who continues to masquerade as Skywalker's heir. Speaking of which, the next item on our agenda is to agree the bounty to set on the little bitch’s head.” He had smiled icily at Kylo. “Especially as we are so close to scrambling the footage, we have managed to salvage from the throne room attack.”

Was it a sense of self-preservation that has brought him here, Kylo wonders? That by proving himself to be more amenable than Snoke, he could fight the opposition he could sense brewing to his fledgling Leadership? Or perhaps a feeling that by keeping Hux and Pryde occupied he might protect _her_?

Whatever his reasons, tonight he has for once, acted in a way that his mother, the consummate politician, would be proud of. He has allowed Hux to guide him around the room, listening to the dull conversation of those that the First Order has relied on in the past, to build their trappings of a new Empire. Whose worlds house the camps of Hux’s fledgling Troopers, plucked from their homes to serve the subjugators of their worlds and systems.

He had even recognised some of the faces of those that had been at those celebrations for the anniversaries of the Galactic Concordance, all these years before. A little older but no wiser. Once they had courted his mother and her ideals. Now they flocked to the next organisation that would grant them wealth and prosperity. He hated having to court people who could be so easily bought, who were eager to accept the ideals of a new order to maintain their position of privilege and power. When he has spied a chance to escape, he had taken it, finding his way to this place where he is free to hide.

He brings the crystal tumbler in his hands to his lips and takes a small sip of the amber drink it contains, the smooth liquid flowing over his tongue leaving not an unpleasant warmth in his mouth. Alcohol has never been something he has partaken of with any frequency, or to any level of excess, but when an occasion has merited it, he has always preferred the warm, woody notes of Corellian whiskey over any other drink. The smell of the whiskey surrounds him in the cool night air, a familiar scent that always seemed to be in the background of his childhood, even with his father so frequently away. One that was always mingled with the stench of cigar’s and engine grease. Kylo raises his glass to the night sky, making a silent toast as the fireworks continue to paint the night sky with colour. _Proud of me now Dad? The son of a small-time thief and smuggler who came from nothing, now the Supreme Leader._

_My son is still alive._

Kylo shakes his head, trying to shake the ghosts that continue to haunt him, from his head. He takes another long swallow from the tumbler.

Maybe it is the whiskey or possibly the memories that seem to be bubbling beneath the surface tonight, but when he feels the bond start to open, Kylo doesn’t try to close it. What is one more regret to haunt him tonight?

He feels an onslaught of emotions hit him as she materialises beside him. Joy, that once more they have been brought together. Fear, that once again she will reject him. Anger, at the memory of her rejection of his hand on the Supremacy.

And something else that he tries his hardest not to acknowledge as he observes her delicate features and strong lithe figure. A stirring within him that he has never felt before.

They stare at each other for what can only be seconds but seems like a lifetime. As before, he can only see her, and not her surroundings. The Force seems to move into surround them, almost humming with anticipation.

It is Rey who breaks the silence first. “I thought this would have ended, now that Snoke is dead.” There is not the anger that she directed to him as she closed the ramp of the Falcon but a tone of resignation.

He swallows thickly before speaking, his throat suddenly feeling constricted. “Clearly, that is not the case.”

He notes that there are shadows under her eyes that mirror the ones under his own. “I’ve felt it… since Crait. Sometimes it’s felt that you are just beyond, but I’ve never quite been able to see you. It’s more an impression of where you are or an emotion you are feeling. I think you’ve been trying to stop it.”

“You made it clear what your feelings were on the Supremacy. You left me unconscious to go back to my mother and the other rabble who make up your so called ‘friends’.” He can feel the raw hurt which had consumed him when he had awoken to find her gone. Gone back to _them_.

Her face takes on that familiar look of anger. “Surely _Kylo_ , you know why…” Behind her more fireworks explode, the shine of her hair reflecting their colour.

Suddenly she looks around her, alarm in her eyes as her head darts around. “Are you in the middle of a battle?” she asks. Then she looks at him and narrows her eyes. “Why are you in those clothes, drinking…” she wrinkles her nose. “…whiskey in the middle of a battlefield?”

“I’m not in a battle.” He says, frowning. Why would she think that?

“But I can hear explosions!” she exclaims, her eyes still darting around.

Suddenly he realises that she cannot see the fireworks, but she can hear them.

“It’s fireworks.” He almost mumbles the next part, realising that telling his supposed sworn enemy exactly what he is doing at this precise moment, might not exactly arouse approval on her part. “I am at a Gala to celebrate my ascendancy as Supreme Leader.”

“I had heard about that.” She replies, not even bothering to hide her disdain. “Congratulations, _Supreme Leader_.”

_You should be here with me he thinks. By my side. Building something better than all this_ he thinks, but he doesn’t quite know how he can articulate this in any meaningful way, so he remains silent.

They continue to watch each other and again it is Rey who breaks the silence again. “I’ve never seen fireworks. There was never a cause for them on Jakku. I have heard they are lovely to watch though” She sounds a little wistful and younger than he has ever noticed before.

He looks up at the fireworks, that surround the balcony. If he were seeing them for the first time, without the associations of the past, would he think them beautiful? A rare spectacle? He can still hear the crowd of spectators before, their appreciation of the display undiminished.

“Maybe there is a way that you can see them. If you were willing to try an experiment?” The words leave his mouth almost before he has a chance to examine if this is an entirely sensible idea. He doesn’t particularly relish the Resistance knowing where he may be, no matter how little a threat they are now. However, his constant retrospections regarding the bond over the last two months have led to a curiosity of its nature and what it entails. Perhaps this is a chance to answer some of the questions he has?

If what he has hypothesised is true, it is also not the most unpleasant way of spending the rest of the evening.

“What type of experiment?” She asks cautiously but he can see that her curiosity to explore the bond too has been piqued.

“Think back to before the Supremacy. When we… touched hands across the bond, what could you see?”

In the dark it is not so apparent, but he can almost feel the heat of her blush infuse her cheeks as she thinks back to that night. He has thought of that moment several times a day, the jolt of electricity as their skin had touched, the not at all unpleasant feel of her slightly calloused skin. Does this mean she has been thinking about it too?

“I could see you and…” she screws her face in concentration.

“Could you see my surroundings?” he asks. “Could you see where I was? Could you see my quarters?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t remember.” She says softly. “I could only see you… and the vision I saw of you.” She lowers her eyes to the ground. He nods, thinking of the vision he saw. The vision that had made him kill Snoke to keep her alive. The vision that had made him so certain that, when he offered it, she would accept his hand.

But he had seen something else in the briefest of moments, when a familiar voice had bellowed “Stop!”, that had made him keen to explore what the bond could possibly allow.

“When Luke came, I could see him, Rey. I could see your surroundings too. There was a fire and stone walls. You were in a stone dwelling.” She nods slowly. “And I could see Luke. I saw him reach out and I heard him shout. Then the walls fell, and the bond snapped.”

“You were gone. When I turned back, you had gone.”

“But I was there. And when our hands touched, I could see where you were, and see and hear Luke too.”

Her brow furrows as she works out what this could mean. “So, if we were to touch now, do you think that I could see your surroundings and see the fireworks?”

“Since Crait, I’ve been trying to find out more about what this could be, Rey. There have been force bonds recorded before where others saw visions of the one, they were bonded too but we have been able to communicate across the galaxy and touch each other. If you would be willing, I would like to try to see we touched again what could happen.”

She remains silent, uncertain eyes meeting his. “I won’t use it against you Rey. If what I believe could happen does, I won’t use it against you.”

“But what about the Resistance? I cannot give you a way to reach them Ben. I won’t betray them.”

“You could just as easily use it against me. Maybe we just have to agree to trust the other.”

She takes a deep breath in and exhales before nodding at him. “Let’s try this then. How do you want to… touch?” she says, then she quickly hides her head in her hands groaning. “I can’t believe I asked that.”

He could reach out and embrace her there and then, take her into his arms and hope the Force would never take her but he realises that may be a step too far… for now, at least. “Our hands touching seemed to work before. If that would be agreeable to you, perhaps that would be the best way to try.” Setting down the tumbler of whiskey down, he reaches out with his leather encased hand.

She looks down at it and her face contorts with a grimace. Perhaps he has pushed too far? “Please.” He asks.

She shakes her head. “No.” she states firmly, and he can feel the sharp stab of betrayal hit him instantly as she rejects his hand again. He starts to withdraw his hand again, bitterness starting to course through him. She must read it in his face because she quickly exclaims. “I do want to take your hand Ben. But please, take off your glove. It’s too similar to… to when you asked me to join you on the Supremacy. If we need to touch to do this, I want us to touch like we did before.”

He nods, a flutter of nervous excitement coiling in his stomach. She _wants_ to take his hand, to feel his skin pressed against hers. He slowly peels off his gloves, pulling each individual finger one after the other, before sliding his hand slowly out. His eyes never leaving hers, as he removes one of his carefully constructed lines of defence.

He can’t help a further frisson of excitement when he realises her pupils have dilated and she is breathing slightly faster and heavier than before. He doesn’t have to do more than gently brush the edge of her mind to know that she feels the same nervous excitement within her too.

He holds out his bared hand again.

There is one last look of hesitancy in her eyes, one split second more of contemplation before she takes a deep breath, steps forward and places her fingertips to his.

As the time before, Kylo feels a sharp jolt at the contact, as if he has touched an exposed wire, causing him to jump slightly. She does too and they both look down to where the hands are meeting. Kylo can feel the Force run through them, wrap themselves around them.

He can hear it sing, a sweet melody that reminds him of how his Kyber used to sound.

“Can you hear it Ben?” Her voice is no more than a whisper.

“Yes Rey. I can hear it too.”

They slide their palms together, their fingers entwining. He looks up to her face, but her eyes are still lowered. He half expects to be interrupted by something, a ghostly apparition of Luke or another Jedi but this time there is no bellow of indignation. Only him and Rey.

“Did it work?” she whispers again. “I’m afraid to look.”

He looks beyond her. What he can see is not clear, the image blurred as if looking through water, but he can make out a small room with a bed and a storage locker. The storage locker, he is surprised to find, has some texts haphazardly towered upon each other.

He knows this place; he knows this room. This was _his_ room.

“You are on the Falcon. I can see where you are, Rey.” He can’t hide the edge of excitement that enters his voice, the scholar within him thrilled that his hypothesis has been proven to be correct.

As if on cue, there is a boom across the night sky. Rey looks up in surprise and this is quickly followed by an expression of delight as she takes in the sparkling colours that shower the night sky. If anything, the display is becoming even more elaborate, with more and more rockets squealing across the sky to explode in a dazzling array of glittering hues, one after the other.

“Ben!” she exclaims with breathless excitement. “It worked! I can see them!”

They stand side by side, their hands between them, their fingers still entwined. He can feel her slightly calloused thumb rub against his own and he returns the gesture. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone like this. When he was last shown affection and gave it freely in return. Certainly not since he had run from Luke’s temple in the night to join the Knights. He can’t remember affection ever being a part of his time with Luke also, particularly from his Uncle. Luke had not encouraged attachments at all, even with his own kin.

“They’re beautiful, Ben!” she exclaims, looking up into the black with wide eyes. The illumination from the fireworks, illuminates her skin and reflects in the shine of her eyes and her hair. It allows him to pick out small things that he has never noticed before, the different flecks of colour in her eyes, the soft curve of her nose, the smattering of freckles that adorns it.

The plumpness of her lips.

He immediately shuts down _those_ thoughts in his head, lest it should carry across the bond.

He does struggle, however, to contain his surprise and delight, when she steps closer to him, closing the small space left between them to rest her head against his tunic. Her head rests just below his chin, so when he looks down his lips almost collide with the crown of her head, his nose filling with a sweet smell. A scent that reminds him of rain on a fresh summer’s day.

She sighs, sinking into him, just ever so slightly more and the Force sighs too, its melody now low and soft.

For some minutes, they watch the spectacle in front of them, in a not uncomfortable silence but eventually he can sense the thoughts that are forming in her mind, echoing the ones in his own. “What happens now Ben?” she asks, her voice soft. “Between us, I mean.”

His breath hitches in his chest. What _can_ this mean? He won’t go to the Resistance and she has made her feelings clear before about joining him.

The Force is connecting them for a reason, that he is sure of but for what purpose it has to bring two enemies together across the galaxy, he cannot answer. “I don’t know Rey.” He says. “I simply don’t know.” They could meet tomorrow on a battlefield for all he knows.

She turns and brings her hand to his cheek, the one she marked as hers on Starkiller Base. He closes his eyes, placing his hand over hers, allowing himself for once to enjoy this gentle caress. The firework display crescendos around them, a multitude of bangs filling the air with colour and sparkle, the crowd roaring their approval below, but now they have only eyes for each other.

He starts to feel the bond dissolve and he tries to hold onto it tighter, to hold her tighter to him. “Rey,” he murmurs, urgency in his voice. “Under the bed, there’s an access panel. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Ben.” She whispers his name and for the first time in a long time, he revels in the sound of his given name, rather than the persona he has created.

But then she is gone. The residual heat of her hand, quickly disappearing from his cheek in the cool night air.

He bends down to pick up his gloves and the glass of whiskey they rest beside. He raises the glass in another silent toast. One to a young woman on the other side of the galaxy, in his old quarters on his father’s ship.

_She only just fits under the bed, trying not to sneeze at the years of dust and sand that rises as she disturbs it. Kriff knows when it was last cleaned. Plutt certainly never did and Chewie would hardly be able to fit in the room, never mind under the bed. She shines the flashlight along the furthest recesses and then gasps when she notices something scratched on one of the panels._

_Property of Ben Solo. Keep out._

_She pulls herself further in, grateful for her scavenger’s ability to access even the smallest of spaces. Once up against it, she guides the torch around its edges to determine if there is an obvious way of opening it. Spying a lip in the metal, she digs her fingertips in and pulls the panel off._

_She wrinkles her nose at the stale air that greets her but in the flashlights beam, she spies a box. A thrill runs through her, a knowledge that she has found something special, a treasure from the past._

_Ben wanted her to find this._

_She crawls out from under the bed, bringing the box out with her. Not even bothering to brush the dust off that clings to her hair, skin and clothing, she rubs the dust off the top of the plain metal box that rests on the floor in front of her, her excitement rising within her._

_Inside she finds a diverse collection of items: strange writing implements with sharp ends; pots rimmed with dried black ink and parchment curled and yellowed with age; a carved depiction of a strange looking animal that stands on its hind legs with curved horns; a rather sad looking Tooka-cat which appears to have lost half its stuffing and only has half an eye on one side, and various small models of ships including X-Wings and TIE fighters, rebel soldiers and Stormtroopers. A vision enters her head of a small boy with a mop of dark curly hair that barely covers the ears he has yet to grow into, and warm brown eyes. He is flying the models through the air, imitating the sound of laser canons._

_In those games, the Rebels always won, she realises sadly._

_She moves the models off the last piece of paper that rests face down against the bottom of the box. When she turns it over in her hands, she lets out a small gasp. It’s a sketch of Han, Leia and Ben, sitting in front of a fire, the Falcon resting behind them. The ink has faded, and the lines are not as defined as they probably once were, but she would know these faces anywhere. They all look happy; Han and Leia have their arms wrapped around each other with a young Ben between them. In the corner of the parchment, she rubs her thumb over the name Ben Solo which is written alongside the date 15ABY._

_He must have done this just before he was sent to Luke’s._

_She presses it to her chest, allowing her tears to fall freely for the first time since Crait. She had vowed then, that she would shed no more tears for Ben Solo. He was truly gone; she had told herself. Only Kylo Ren remained._

_A heavy knock at the door rouses her from her thoughts. “Sunshine!” says the growl she has become to know so well in the last few months. “Are you ok? I could use a hand in the cockpit. Were just coming out of Hyperspace.”_

_“Coming!” She hastily wipes her tears, then reverently she replaces Ben’s childhood memories into the box, before hiding it under her bed._

_Apart from the drawing. The drawing she places in the largest of the Jedi tomes that she ‘borrowed’ from Ahch-To._

_‘Ben Solo is alive.’ She thinks and for the first time since Crait, a spark of Hope alights inside her. She smiles as she heads to the cockpit, to help Chewbacca land the Falcon at the new Resistance base._

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and say hi on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/ReyLo74042319)


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